


Ownership

by TheMuchTooMerryMaiden



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Piercings, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden/pseuds/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn't like it when John puts himself in harms way, John doesn't like it that Sherlock doesn't like it.</p>
<p>Written for the Johnlockchallenges gift exchange for irisqod whose prompt was 'John gives Sherlock a piercing', I hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ownership

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irisqod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisqod/gifts).



It could be said that checking your significant other’s browser history argues a lack of trust, but John Watson had long ago decided that where Sherlock was involved that was a load of bollocks. Sherlock knew enough to clear the history, anything he left was almost certainly being left precisely so that John would see it. Alarmingly when he checked the history one damp, miserable day in late October what he saw was page after page of information about piercings.

Once he’d started looking John found the whole thing morbidly fascinating in a “what are these people thinking” kind of way. Sherlock’s main area of research appeared to be genital piercings and the very idea made John squirm, the idea of needles around such delicate areas made John want to cup himself defensively and that was before he’d read about the 7% of men with a Prince Albert or similar piercing who experienced ‘rips or tears’; rips and tears were not something he cared to think about in relation to Sherlock’s cock, he’d become rather attached to it he considered over the last few months. Pierced ears where all one thing but while John could appreciate that there was an aesthetic reason for them, as a doctor and on a more fundamental level the idea of voluntarily putting holes in someone was just wrong, which wasn’t to say that some of the images weren’t affecting, possibly to the point where a cold shower was indicated. 

For a few days John puzzled over what if anything he ought to say, after all Sherlock was given to researching the extremes of human experience; the images didn’t mean that this was something that Sherlock wanted. When their next case came up and both of them were caught up in the whirlwind of the investigation the idea and the images went clear out of John’s mind.

 

The case was a difficult one. Lestrade had called them in, far too late according to Sherlock who hadn’t even waited until the detective had managed to get his office door shut before he’d begun to berate the man about his stupidity for waiting so long,

“We’ll be very lucky if this doesn’t mean more people are hurt or even killed!”

“Now,” Lestrade replied, “steady on, there was nothing to suggest that this wasn’t an ordinary missing person case until this morning,”

“There was everything to suggest it! The purchase of ‘extra’ milk, the spilled nail varnish, for pity’s sake use the small amount of brain power you were given!”

Closely watching the angry flush creeping up Lestrade’s face as Sherlock continued, John interrupted,

“Sorry about this, Greg, do you have an office we could use for just a moment?”

Lestrade took a deep breath,

“Use this one,” he took another deep breath, “I’ll get coffee and we can decide what to do.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but John glared him into silence until Greg was safely out of the room but as soon as the door was shut, Sherlock began again,

“How on earth am I supposed to work in this situation, every time it’s the same, we don’t get called until half the forensic information has been trampled on and until it’s next to impossible to get a successful result,”

John interrupted him,

“That’s enough, Sherlock, settle down. You know as well as I do that Greg calls you as soon as he is able, as soon as he’s allowed to.” John walked over to Sherlock and stood very close into him as he took a deep breath and propped himself up on the edge of Lestrade’s desk. John moved even closer, bracketing Sherlock’s legs with his own. “That’s better,” he said as Sherlock took a deep breath, “use that energy to solve the case, not to give Greg a hard time, yeah?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, leaning forward and gently kissing John. 

John allowed himself a moment to reflect on the fact that being kissed by Sherlock never seemed to get old before he moved away as Greg came back into the room. It had to have been obvious what was going on but as usual Greg said nothing.

“Right, Lestrade, what’s happened that’s new, that meant you were able to call us in?”

Greg flashed John a brief, grateful smile before he launched into the detail of the case.

 

In the end it turned out to be a far from ordinary case, not least because John managed to get himself caught and nearly turned into the third victim. John would still have maintained that it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t have left the girl after all and he didn’t intend to get caught while freeing her, but he had got her out and come out of it with only minor damage, altogether he considered that it had worked rather well. It was clear that Sherlock did not agree with that assessment. 

All the way home from Bart’s in the cab, the FME and Lestrade had insisted that he got checked out, John knew that Sherlock was seething. His every move once he’d assured himself that John was basically unharmed had been fast and abrupt, like a promise of violence. John’s attempts to talk to him were met with absolute silence and a refusal to meet his eye, the row when it finally happened was going to be titanic and John only hoped that Mrs Hudson had taken one of her ‘soothers’ otherwise she was in for a rude awakening because by now he was more than ready to pick a fight of his own. Their silence lasted until they got up the seventeen stairs and into the flat,

“What on earth did you think you were doing?” Sherlock yelled, “You could have got yourself killed!”

John swallowed a couple of times and made a great effort to keep his voice quiet and neutral,

“I was making sure that Jenifer Adams wasn’t victim number three,” 

Sherlock interrupted,

“What by offering yourself as the third victim instead? I can’t believe you would put yourself in that situation, anything could have happened,”

It was John’s turn to interrupt, still trying to stop this ending up as the bloody awful row it was heading on to being,

“But it didn’t, I do have some skills in the matter of hand to hand fighting.” He paused and tried to pull together a reassuring smile for Sherlock’s benefit, “it was all fine,”

“It bloody well wasn’t all fine! For fuck’s sake John, what do you imagine I’d do without you, you can’t do that to me!”

“Well,” John said in a quiet, brittle tone, “if all I’ve managed tonight is to give you a taste of how that feels then, do you know what, I think I’ll go back down to the yard and thank that bastard.” John had intended that his words should hurt, he was suddenly so far beyond angry that he was amazed that he hadn’t punched Sherlock, so when he saw the man pale and then flush he felt a vindictive surge of pleasure, “it’s different when it’s me is it? I’m supposed to cope for eighteen fucking months and you shouldn’t have a few minutes to worry? Is that right?”

“That’s not … it’s not, that’s not how it is!”

“Well I guess that just depends on where you were standing, whether you were at the top looking down or the bottom looking up.”

With that John turned and stalked to his own room. It was a low blow he knew and most of the time these days he managed not to think about what Sherlock had put him through but sometimes it was like he just couldn’t help himself. John knew that he should have found someone to talk to about ‘It’ but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to, it always seemed like he might not be able to get the lid back on it if he ever let go. 

He hoped but didn’t expect that Sherlock would leave him alone, give him the time to get his temper under control, so he wasn’t surprised to find Sherlock barging into his room,

“Are you ever going to stop throwing that back in my face?”

“Probably not, certainly for as long as you continue to behave like an arse.”

“Is it really that unreasonable to expect you to be careful with yourself?”

“What makes you think I’m not careful? I’m not the one who forgets to eat and to sleep, I’m not the one who’ll work himself into exhaustion. I know what I’m doing Sherlock, I’m not some delicate little flower!” John took a deep breath and tried to calm down, on reflection it seemed like Sherlock actually needed him to break this down so that he could understand. The lack of comprehension of what people were thinking and feeling happened less often these days but it still did, with a sigh John sat down on the bed,

“Come here.”

Sherlock walked into the room looking ridiculously like a small child after a tantrum,

“I don’t take unthinking risks, Sherlock; you should know that by now. At best I take calculated risks. Would you really want me not to be the sort of person who would rescue someone? Would you really want me not to be me?”

Sherlock sat down next to John, not looking up to meet John’s eyes,

“No … I’m sorry ... but you have to know that if I was prepared to let everyone think I was a fraud to keep you safe then ... no, I really am sorry ... I’m really not used to feeling like this.”

He looked up, finally and John felt all the fight go out of him at the look of need on Sherlock’s face. On some levels it felt like he was giving in again, like their whole relationship was a series of capitulations on John’s part, but in reality they both gave each other what they needed. John leaned over slightly and kissed Sherlock gently on the lips. It was all the encouragement he needed. Sherlock kissed him back, his tongue stroking John’s lips until they parted and then with that little encouragement thrusting into John’s mouth, making quiet moaning noises that made everything that bit more urgent. Sherlock’s hand was straying further and further down John’s torso until it nestled at his groin and began to stroke his growing erection through the fabric of his jeans and underwear and soon John’s moans were matching Sherlock’s.

Eventually Sherlock pulled away slightly, leaning his forehead on John’s shoulder and they both took a couple of deep breaths before Sherlock spoke very quietly,

“Fuck me, John, please,”

John’s breath caught in his throat and he swallowed before he replied,

“Are you sure? I didn’t think ... last time I hurt you, I don’t want to...”

“I need you, I need you to take me, I want you to make me feel it, I want to feel full from you, please John, fuck me.”

John’s murmured ‘are you sure?’ was met with an eye roll from Sherlock as he stood and began to undress, when he stripped his trousers and underpants away John had abundant proof that Sherlock was both sure and enthusiastic,

“I mean I could just suck you off, you like that...”

Sherlock looked down before he spoke quietly,

“Do you ... do you not want me?”

“Oh don’t be stupid, I always want you, I want you writhing and crying out, I want to fuck you so hard you forget your name, but I only want that if it’s what you truly want, Sherlock, not because you want to show me you’re sorry...”

“That’s not the reason,” Sherlock almost snapped back, “I just want you to take me, I want to feel owned by you.”

There was a long pause where neither of them spoke and John juggled possibilities in his mind before Sherlock spoke again,

“I am yours you know, forever, now, please, make me feel it.”

“On the bed, then, hands and knees.”

Sherlock made no argument and as John removed his clothes he was treated to the rear view of Sherlock, waiting for him and clearly trying not to fidget as he waited. John took his time, he was after all enjoying the view and the anticipation. 

When he was fully naked he walked around the bed, his hard cock swaying slightly as he moved, and opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet to retrieve a bottle of lubricant. He was still slightly nervous about it all. Sherlock and he had been ‘together’ since Sherlock had got back from unravelling Moriarty’s network and they’d tried most things including this but John had been so worried about hurting Sherlock that it really hadn’t gone that well. But the idea of it, the idea of Sherlock completely surrendering his body to John was exciting and John wanted it, wanted Sherlock and he was shocked to find that a small part of that was the desire to hurt Sherlock.

“Right,” John said, “if you’re still sure. If you want me to stop just say so, I’m not going to faff about with ‘safe words’ and similar, so if you say stop I will.”

“I don’t want you to ever stop, John.”

John flipped the lid on the bottle and poured some of the liquid on his hand and let Sherlock watch as he coated his cock. Sherlock closed his eyes once and swallowed before focusing on John’s hand and his cock. John climbed onto the bed behind Sherlock and leaned forward to blow gently along Sherlock’s back watching the gooseflesh spring up.

“Knees further apart.” John gave the instruction as though it was an order and it would certainly seem that Sherlock saw it in that way, he moved quickly and John knew that he was trying hard to hide his impatience. Which was good because, even angry as he was with Sherlock begging for it he wasn’t about to actually do anything that might actually injure Sherlock, so with his left hand on Sherlock’s hip he slowly ran his right middle and forefinger up and down Sherlock’s cleft, passing deeper each time so that his fingers were teasing Sherlock’s opening and allowing himself an unseen smirk as he watched Sherlock wrestling with his impatience. After a couple of moments Sherlock’s attempt at submission gave way,

“Please John, get on with it!”

John removed his hands entirely from Sherlock and was rewarded with an exasperated sigh. Sitting back on his heels John spoke,

“You said you wanted me to show you that you belong to me?”

Sherlock made an affirmative noise,

“Well then, I’ll fuck you the way I want to, you don’t get any say in this Sherlock, do you understand?”

Sherlock took a deep breath and dropped his head and shoulders down in a move that made John catch his breath. When he replied, John could only just hear him with his voice muffled by the bed clothes,

“Yes, John.”

With that encouragement John went back to preparing Sherlock, taking his time as much as he possibly could, watching Sherlock’s attempts not to hurry things along with a fond smile. When he began to gently stroke Sherlock’s prostate John really thought that Sherlock would be unable to help himself but although he took a breath to speak he didn’t, he just let the breath out in a sigh and further spread his knees apart.

“Right, Sherlock,” John said eventually and without warning he thrust into Sherlock completely, pulling out and repeating the long full thrust until Sherlock was crying out. “Is this what you wanted, Sherlock?” John asked, “Me taking you, fucking you until you won’t be able to walk straight? Do you feel ‘owned’ now Sherlock? Is this what you wanted?”

“God, yes, John, please, more, please,”

John thrust even harder,

“Good because you are mine, you’ll always be mine, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed and with that John came hard, riding out his orgasm still with deep thrusts. When he finally pulled out John spoke again,

“On your back.”

Sherlock complied and John leaned forward to take Sherlock’s slightly wilting cock in his mouth while his fingers went back to Sherlock’s arse, pushing in until he found Sherlock’s prostate again, and startled an exclamation from him

“Oh, God, John it’s too much, please,”

John pulled his mouth off Sherlock to speak, still making sure that his breath would be playing across Sherlock’s cock,

“You want me to stop, Sherlock?” he asked while wondering what he would do if Sherlock said yes. But Sherlock didn’t,

“No, I’m yours.”

“Yes you are,” he said before taking Sherlock’s cock in his mouth and continuing his relentless pressure on his prostrate. He could tell that what he was doing had Sherlock finely balanced between pleasure and over stimulation and that just made the whole thing better as far as John was concerned. When Sherlock finally came, pulse after pulse, John swallowed it all and pulled off him slowly before crawling up the bed and flopping down next to the still shuddering detective. Sherlock snuggled in closer to him but they didn’t speak for some time. Eventually, John spoke,

“Are you OK, love?” John tried not to show it but he was braced for almost any reaction from Sherlock,

“It was perfect,” 

John felt himself blushing and to cover his embarrassment he made to get up to fetch a cloth from the bathroom.

“Don’t,” Sherlock said,

“I’m just going to clean us up, OK?”

“I suppose so.”

Sherlock was sat up when he returned, sat up and John noticed clearly thinking. He threw the cloth at Sherlock, who used it to clean himself off, still clearly pondering something. In the end John decided it was better just to ask,

“You’re wondering about something, what is it?”

“You’re deducing me now are you?” Sherlock asked with a brief smile. “You’re right I am. John, would you give me a piercing? I want something that tells me all the time that I’m yours.”

John paused, thinking that he should really have expected this,

“I suppose a simple ring would have been out of the question?” he asked and watched Sherlock blush,

“I want that,” Sherlock admitted ducking his head a little. John’s mind reeled a little, did that mean what I think it means he wondered. “But we both know that I’d have to take a ring off all the time, I want some permanent, something indelible. This afternoon, just for five minutes I thought I’d lost you and all I could think was that I’d have nothing to show, nothing to...” He stopped speaking and John was horrified to see tears glistening in his eyes.

“Seriously, Sherlock I wasn’t in that much danger, I promise.”

“Maybe not this time,” Sherlock replied, “but what about the next time or the time after that? You won’t stop being you and you’re right I wouldn’t want you to. I need something that marks me as yours.”

“What sort of piercing did you have in mind?” John asked remembering the images from Sherlock’s web-browsing,

“Something that only you would see,” Sherlock replied straight away.

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” John said, softening his words with a smile, “if you’re talking about some of the piercings that you’ve been looking at on the Internet, then I’m sorry Sherlock but I don’t think I could do that. Too many things can go wrong and anyway, I can’t say I’d be desperately happy about the minimum three month healing period when you’d be out of commission.”

John could tell that his final point had struck home. Sherlock after years of abstention was now closer to indefatigable than John could always cope with, he would certainly find twelve weeks a serious test. John ran through some of the images he’d seen and finally came up with a solution that they could both deal with.

“I’ll think about it OK?” was all he said to Sherlock.

 

John was surprised to find that he could buy everything he needed on ebay. It seemed somehow peculiar that he could buy the necessary equipment without any checks as to whether he was a qualified piercer or some half-baked teenager. On the whole though it was less embarrassing than being caught appropriating some of the equipment from the clinic. He did a large amount of reading and still found himself worrying about rejection and infection and he wondered if Sherlock knew that it might not, in fact probably would not, be permanent. Also he would have to admit to himself there was something arousing and pleasing about Sherlock being marked both by him and as his. After a couple of weeks he felt like he was as ready as he’d ever be and was also sure that if anyone was going to do this to Sherlock it would be him, so he sent for the equipment and the jewellery, arranging for it to be delivered to the Surgery.

 

John chose to actually do the deed when Sherlock was between cases, having decided that he might as well get the benefit of reducing Sherlock’s boredom at the same time. After the third time Sherlock had sworn at the television John decided that now was the time.

“Right you,” he said, his voice taking on an air of command, “get yourself upstairs, I want you stripped and flat on your back in five minutes.”

John could see potential responses to this flit across Sherlock’s face before he settled on doing what he was told, thinking that it was John’s idea that they should have sex. You’re going to be surprised John thought allowing himself a grin as he got up and collected the small neat parcel that was in his coat pocket.

 

It was clear that John had guessed right as to Sherlock’s conclusions. He’d mostly done what he was asked, he was stripped, he was on his back, he was mostly flat but one part of his anatomy was not cooperating.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” John said inserting the hint of a sigh into his tone. Sherlock sat up slightly in order to get a better look at John, trying to work out what precisely was meant by what John had said. It ran through John’s mind to continue to be ‘unenthusiastic’ about the prospect, but after only a moment he realised that he risked taking the gloss off something that was very important to Sherlock.

He put the package down on the dresser and then turned to look at Sherlock who was still looking about non-plussed. John interlocked his fingers, palms towards Sherlock and theatrically cracked his knuckles. Then he gave Sherlock a grin and said,

“I’ll just take care of that shall I, before we get down to it?”

Sherlock continued to look at him with confusion as John moved towards the bed and sat down next to him.

“You know,” John said conversationally as he reached for Sherlock’s cock, “I’m not entirely sure you realise how fucking gorgeous you are.” He stroked once from root to tip and then allowed his fingertips to play over Sherlock’s sensitive glans. “I mean,” he continued, “you know your worth, you know you’re intelligent,” Sherlock groaned and John knew that he was about to start thrusting and also that he didn’t want him to so he put a restraining hand on Sherlock’s hip and then went back to stroking root to tip and back again, “you know you’re phenomenal at what you do, but I know that sometimes you don’t think you’re attractive.” He leaned forward and as his hand pulled back up to the top of Sherlock’s leaking cock he followed it with his tongue, taking the time when he got there to explore the very tip with his tongue, lapping at the pre-ejaculate which was glistening there. “So,” he said, pulling away slightly, “I suppose that it’s good that I’m here to tell you these things,” and with that he moved down and took as much of Sherlock into his mouth as he could manage, startling a heartfelt but almost breathless “Fuck!” out of Sherlock.

John knew that Sherlock was close and that it wouldn’t take long, he reached up and flailed briefly before catching hold of Sherlock’s hand, their fingers weaving together as John expertly applied pressure to the most sensitive area on the underneath of Sherlock’s cock, pressing and stroking until Sherlock’s come filled his mouth. 

When John moved to get up, Sherlock sat up slightly to look at him, reaching to grab John’s hand,

“Where are you going? I haven’t even started with you, let alone finished, come here!” It was said with a grin and heavy lidded eyes and for a moment John contemplated putting off the ‘main event’, it wasn’t even as if he really wanted to do it anyway. But Sherlock did, so he pulled his hand from Sherlock’s grasp and got up.

“Remember what I said, flat on your back, I’ll be back in a moment.”

John went to the kitchen and came back with three antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit. The sight of them was all that Sherlock needed to deduce what was going to happen.

“You’re really going to do it?” Sherlock asked,

“I am, if when I’ve explained, you still want me to.”

“I do want you to!” Sherlock said, sounding to John very much like an excited child in a toy shop.

“No, wait, you need to listen and to think carefully, I’m not doing this if I’m the slightest bit unsure about you having given informed consent.”

Sherlock put his hands behind his head so that he could see John more easily and waited.

“Right,” John said, feeling ridiculously nervous, “I looked at the different types of piercing and the fact that you want it to be something that only we see and the only thing I could see my way to doing would be what they call a pubic piercing. It goes in above the base of your penis; some people have a ring, some a barbell. I do have to warn you, apparently because it’s a surface piercing it will probably eventually ‘reject’ a bit like a splinter. What do you think?”

As John expected Sherlock had questions, questions about how long it was likely to last, how long it would take to heal, whether he’d have to abstain for weeks, John answered them all.

“So, do you still want me to do this?”

Sherlock answered straight away,

“Yes. Do you have the things you need now?”

“Yep, that’s why I told you flat on your back naked! Do you want me to do it now? Do you trust me to get it in there straight, because if you want to we can do this with you stood up instead, so that you can see what I’m doing?”

Sherlock shook his head,

“I trust you with everything, this is no different.”

John was slightly embarrassed to find that he had tears prickling in his eyes. He turned to the dresser, relieved that Sherlock would not be able to witness his rapid blinking, and began to open the package. When he had everything arranged he put on a pair of surgical gloves,

“You’re ready?”

“Yes! Get on with it!”

John turned round with the clamp in his hand,

“Right you’ll feel a pinch, don’t know whether it’s reassuring or not that some people think this is more uncomfortable than the actual piercing!”

John took his time placing the clamp, high enough up that it wouldn’t get in the way, low enough down that trousers and underwear wouldn’t rub on it. He stood back to try and gauge that it was level and symmetrically placed, because he had an idea that it would drive Sherlock mental in short order if it wasn’t centred.

“Right I reckon that’s it. Still sure?”

“You keep asking me, and I,”

“Don’t like repeating myself.” John sang along. He knew he was asking the question a lot and knew that this was because deep down he found it surprising that anyone would want to do this. He turned back to the dresser and picked up the piercing needle with the sterile forceps, supressing a shudder at the large bore of the needle. When he turned round he saw that Sherlock was watching his every move and he heard him take a deep breath. “Do you want a countdown?” John asked,

“Whatever you prefer,” Sherlock replied. John pulled on the forceps to pulling the skin up so that there was less chance of accidentally piercing the underlying tissue and then gave Sherlock a countdown,

“OK, then, one, two, three,”

John carefully pushed the needle through the skin. Years of experience told him that any attempt he might make to go gently with this would actually make it worse but it was more difficult not to than he would have expected, maybe there was something in the old saw about not treating loved ones. It was even more difficult to do the thing that every trainee doctor did at least once and push the needle right through. Sherlock sucked in a breath and it was all that John could do not to pull the needle back out, but he steeled himself,

“You OK? He asked,

“Yes, I’m fine. It doesn’t feel too bad actually, not materially worse at the moment than getting an injection, it just felt a bit strange when the needle came out the other side, that bit was more painful.”

“It can’t have felt any more strange than it did for me,” John was gently moving the needle to try and ensure that the hole he’d made would take the barbell without any tearing, “actually going right through the skin is one of the things they try to stop you doing when you’re in medical school.”

Sherlock repressed a snort of laughter,

“I would think so.”

“Right, I’m going to put the barbell in now, I won’t lie to you, this is going to hurt.” John looked over at Sherlock and seeing no sign that Sherlock wanted him to stop he withdrew the needle slightly and picked up the barbell. The trick was to use the barbell to push the needle out through the second hole. As gently as he could he pushed the needle through. “How does that feel?” he asked,

“Odd, a little bit painful, “he paused and raised his head slightly, not to look at the piercing but to look at John, “pretty good, really, knowing it’s just for me and you. What about you?”

John took a moment or two to think before beginning to speak as he reached for the ‘end’ of the barbell,

“You know I feel surprisingly good about it,” he attached the end of the barbell, noticing that Sherlock winced slightly at the pull on the piercing, “I didn’t expect to get quite such a buzz out of ‘marking’ you and I can picture how this will look when everything’s healed and the fact that there’s only me going to see it and yeah, pretty good. Take a look and see what you think.” 

Sherlock more than sat up, as John disposed of the needle and the rest of the stuff, he got up and went and looked at the piercing in the mirror,

“That’s perfect, John,” he said as he turned towards him, “You know that I’m yours, don’t you?” He moved closer to John and almost shyly held out a hand, “I think I’ve been yours since I first saw you at Bart’s, it took me a ridiculous amount of time to admit it to myself but I am.”

John closed up the distance between them and pulled Sherlock’s head down to where he could kiss him, a long slow kiss, a kiss with intent,

“You know I feel the same.”

“Thank you, John.”

“What for doing that?” John asked,

“No, well yes, but really, thank you for all of it.”


End file.
